Pieces of Me
by Shirleylocked
Summary: They say that I lost my memory when I hit my head on a stair. The complete loss of five years from my mind would be very annoying, if not for the compelling mystery it provides. Who is Mrs. Hudson? Why 221B? And perhaps most importantly, who is John Watson and what is he hiding? Rated M just in case, might be a graphic case in a chapter...not sure yet.
1. John Watson

**Yes... I know I'm supposed to be working on my Doctor Who fic... But...then Sherlock called to me...and I'm sort of stuck on my Doctor Who fic anyway...trying to work out a good mystery for Sera and the Ponds to solve takes a lot of work...ooppss Spoiler alert.**

**Anyway! This is what came to my head. The chapters will probably shorter than my normal chapters, but i like the idea, so I'll go along with it. It's all in Sherlock's point of view.**

**Hope you guys like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, nor do I own 'The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson', as that will be quoted later.**

**Happy reading! :D**

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John Watson

The steady beat of a heart rate monitor told me I was in a hospital, and if that wasn't a good enough clue, the overly-clean scent gave it away. There was a needle in my arm, obviously an IV of some sort. I wasn't alone. No. Someone was standing next to me, they were rocking back and forth slightly, judging by the sound of their shoes against the tiled floor. I felt something brush gently across my forehead, moving my hair out of my eyes-which seemed the perfect time for me to open them.

The man in front of me was short and had greying honey-blonde hair. His stance was military and his face calm, relieved. "Oh, Sherlock, you're awake. Thank god." He was obviously relieved and happy to see me awake, but for the life of me I didn't know why or who he was. I knew what he was, of course. I knew he was an army doctor based off of his stance, hairstyle, slight tan, and the way he looked at the machines, knowingly, familiarly. This man knew a hospital well. I knew he hadn't been in war recently, judging by how faint the tan had become. I could decipher that he was married, happily by the well maintained shine of his ring, though it was obviously at least two years old. "I was worried when you hit your head like that."

"What happened?" I wondered, obviously this man knew me, he wasn't faking to get closer to me, he was genuinely concerned about me.

"You were chasing that burglar and slipped on the ice…hit your head really hard too."

"The burglar with the diamond in his tooth?" I wondered. The man raised his eyebrows at me slowly. He was very…expressive, a million expressions for every possible emotion. I had a feeling that deciphering the true meaning to these faces and cataloguing them might take a very long time.

"No… Sherlock are you feeling alright?" The man asked. "What do you remember?"

"The dimwit Anderson messed up the crime scene again. That's the third time since he was hired last month!" I hissed, I hated when people tampered with the evidence. "I did warn Lestrade not to hire him. I found out who the burglar was because of the sediment on the door outside of the master bedroom, which had a particular mixture of clay and brick dust… I must have followed him and slipped on the ice… I remember the ground being very hard when I landed, pavement, perhaps a stair." The man's mouth fell open slightly as if he were shocked or very confused.

"Do you know who I am?" He wondered.

"I know you're an army doctor and that you were abroad a few years ago because your tan has begun to fade, but the stance and hair style remains, suggesting you are not too far disconnected from your service days. I know you've been married for two and…a half years to someone you must care about because of your ring, polished yet scratched a bit, suggesting you've worn it a while."

"That's what I am… Sherlock, _who_ am I?" The man asked, looking rather pale.

"I haven't the faintest idea." I told him truthfully. The man closed his eyes tightly for a minute, sighing heavily. He looked pained and upset, but when he opened his eyes there was nothing but patience and hope written on his face, which was strange. I'd never met a person who could so rapidly change their facial expressions.

"You've lost your memory… What day is it?"

"January 12, 2007." I answered easily.

"Four years…" The man chuckled sarcastically, rubbing his face as if he were suddenly very tired. "Sherlock, it's December 1, 2012. And…my name's J—"

"Sherlock!" A voice called from the doorway. I knew the voice instantly. Lestrade, obviously. I looked up at him and knew that the man next to my bed had told me the truth. I clearly remembered Lestrade having hair a few shades darker than the silvery-grey it was currently. He'd aged a few years…I was missing things. My own mind palace had been sabotaged by my fall. "Thank heavens you're alright. I was worried when I heard you fell, god, it reminded me of that time a few years ago—"

"Oh…" I said with wide eyes. My previous fall in 2007 must have been very closely related to the one in 2012… Perhaps that was the reason for my lapse in memory. Two very similar occasions setting me back in time. I wasn't quite a medical man…but that seemed like a very logical leap.

"Thank god you weren't alone this time." Lestrade sighed, smiling at the man next to me. Lestrade knew the man also… They were friends, obviously comfortable and knowledgeable about each other.

"Greg…would you mind…? Just for a moment?"

"Of course."

"And…in a few minutes go call the doctor as well."

"No problem." Lestrade stated with a nod in the man's direction before leaving the room, closing the door.

"Lestrade knows you well… So that must mean we are acquainted in some fashion." I commented. "Do you work for him?" It was a possibility, though not the most probably of my theories. My mind was working slow, no doubt a side-effect of smashing my head against the pavement.

"No… I'm Doctor John Watson…and for once, you're wrong."

"But I obviously know you somehow…"

"Yeah…" John bit his lip and nodded. "You do."

"Very well it would seem."

"Brilliant deduction, that…"

"Mr. Watson?" A doctor asked stepping into the room. With one glance I could tell he was having an affair on his wife with the male nurse who was still looking at him through the window. "I heard, Mr. Holmes was awake."

"He's also missing his memory. In the past he had a similar accident, where he slipped and fell whilst chasing a burglar. I'm pretty sure the linked events are what set back his memory."

"How long ago was this?" The doctor inquired seriously.

"2007." I answered simply. "That's the last thing I remember." The doctor glanced at John and frowned.

"Oh…"

"Exactly…"

"What exactly?" I inquired, irritated.

"Will he trust you?"

"I can only hope." John sighed in reply before looking at me. "You see…you've sort of changed…in the past few years."

"In what way?"

"You've got a new flat. 221B Baker Street. You've met me. We're friends and colleagues… I suppose I can explain it all later…" John sighed. "You've tests to run, of course." He said to the doctor. "I'll just get out of your way…" John walked out of the room, his left hand shaking as he left. Injured in the war? The left shoulder…probably shot and invalided home. John Watson was right about one thing. I knew what he was, but I hadn't the faintest clue who he was exactly. It was a mystery…a very good one.

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	2. Baker Street

**It makes me happy that i can post one chapter to a new story and have a new review, two favorites and two follows in two minutes flat.**

**I love you guys.**

**Here, have another chapter, luvs.**

**I don't own Sherlock, nor do I own 'The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson', as that will be quoted later.**

**Happy reading! :D**

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Baker Street

John led me up seventeen steps into 221b. I scanned the room quickly looking for anything that might help me remember. Instantly I knew I lived here. My violin was resting in the corner with a music stand next to it. I had been composing something... Things from previous cases littered the walls. Books I remembered and books that were too new for me to know were stacked on the shelves. The kitchen was overflowing with an experiment that surely had been tainted by neglect.

John kept walking and turned on the lights while I looked down at the desk. There was dust on the desk, except for a rectangular shape and a thin line running parallel to it. There had been a picture sitting on the desk, but it had been removed. Why would a picture be removed? I thought about it for a moment before turning to look at John. "We live here?"

"Yes…" John nodded looking around. By the look on his face he was very fond of the little flat, though something in his gaze seemed solemn.

"And Mrs. Hudson's the land-lady? How did we meet?" I asked.

"Yes, good ol' Mrs. Hudson, god bless her. You met her when you took a case about an abusive husband. You got her husband sentenced to death in Florida, you two have been thick as thieves ever since." John explained with a small smile before frowning. "God, poor Mrs. Hudson. I haven't told her yet. She'll be devastated."

"I was actually wondering how _we_ met, but that's pretty decent information as well, probably something I should remember." I stated looking around the flat again. Little things began to pop out at me. The long scratch on the table, where had that come from? The yellow smiley face on the wall that had obviously been shot…six times. There was an obscenely pink phone tucked away in a drawer and buried under several pieces of paper.

"Oh…well—"

"Yoo-hoo." A feminine voice called. "Oh, Sherlock, it's good to see you home again. Poor John was worried about you…" I turned to the door to look at the woman. She was dressed nicely, but there was flour on her sleeves, she had just gotten done baking before she'd come up. Her voice was sincere. She obviously cared about me and John for that matter, quite a bit.

"Mrs. Hudson…I'm sorry…he doesn't…exactly know who we are." John stammered slightly.

"Oh? Why not?" Mrs. Hudson looked at me and a knowing expression dawned on her face. "Oh dear…hit your head a bit too hard this time? Dreadful. You can't remember us at all?" She looked absolutely devastated. Did I mean that much to her?

"I can't remember anything after 2007 it would seem." I told her.

"Oh, dear. Well, you have a few mysteries to solve then don't you?" She asked good-spiritedly, but her eyes shined with tears. "You always love a good mystery. But…but don't you remember John at all?"

"No…"

"But—"

"Mrs. Hudson," John intervened, grabbing her shoulders gently before pulling her into a hug. "It's alright, dear. We'll work on it alright? He's a genius, it shouldn't be too difficult for him to put things together."

"But how could he forget?" Mrs. Hudson was openly crying into John's shoulder. I felt an uncomfortable weight drop in my stomach. What was I supposed to do? I had no attachment to any of these people, but they were certainly friends of mine. Close ones. Was I supposed to feel bad that they felt bad? Was I supposed to comfort them? What was I supposed to say? Was I to say anything?

"Liz…I'm going to help him alright? He's Sherlock, you know."

"But _John_ of all the times in the world to forget—"

"Hey, let me deal with that, alright?" John pulled back and looked at her seriously. She nodded and wiped her eyes.

"Of course, John… Ooh…I think I'll make us all a nice cuppa… Just this once though, luvs. I'm not your housekeeper." She stated, rubbing her eyes and sniffling as she walked back down the stairs.

"I take it she's our housekeeper."

"Yes…very much so." John chuckled. He didn't even bother to try to get rid of the tear tracks on his cheeks. He knew I'd see them. "You don't have to feel bad for us Sherlock. I know you don't know us, so faking anything won't do anyone any good."

"How did you—?" How did John know what I was thinking?

"You're not the only person with moments of genius. I could see it on your face." John commented, straightening out a pillow on the chair before looking back up at me.

"How did we meet? Did I solve something for you as well?"

"No and yes…" John commented sitting down in what obviously was _his _chair. I slowly moved and sat down on the couch, finding it quite comfortable. "I'd just been sent home from Afghanistan—"

"Invalided." I corrected.

"How do you know that already?"

"You hand shook at the hospital. Bullet wound? Left shoulder?"

"Yes." John nodded. "Brilliant as always." John chuckled and shook his head slowly. "I met an old friend of mine Mike Stamford, who suggested I get a flat-share… I told him no one would want me as a flat-mate, as it turns out you'd told him the exact same thing that morning…which led him to introducing us at Bart's…"

"And you didn't think I was…too strange?" I wondered. Everyone thought I was too strange.

"You know…a few seconds after I walked into the room you knew my whole life story. I thought you were brilliant."

"That's not what people normally say."

"Piss off?" John asked with a soft smile. "I've heard that one before. I can't say that I've never told you to piss off before, because I have, but that's normally when you're annoying me." John chuckled.

"And you just moved in with a—"

"Consulting Detective…? Yeah, I did, the day after I met you. Don't ask why, even I don't know why. I've been here ever since."

"How many years?"

"Four, in a few more months."

"Yet there really isn't anything in this house that looks to be yours." I commented, the whole place looked overrun by my things.

"I came home from Afghanistan with nothing, I sort of got used to it. Don't you dare think about touching my gun either; I know what you get up to when you're bored."

"That means I shot the wall then."

"Who else?" John rolled his eyes. "You were bored…which is why the wall took a pounding."

"It probably had it coming." I shrugged, sprawling out on the couch. John had gone still in his chair and I glanced at his shock face. "You've heard that before?"

"Yes…sorry…it just, sort of shocked me." John shook his head and grabbed a laptop before handing it to me.

"What's this for?"

"Data…I wrote up some of our cases since we met." _Our cases? _"I figured is a good start as any." He smiled before he left the room. He knew me well, that much was certain…few people talked about data, only clues and hints. He was no stranger to my methods. I opened the laptop and stared for a long moment at the space for the password.

"John!" I called out.

"Yes?" He called back, looking around the corner.

"It's password protected." His face fell at that.

"I forgot, you can't just guess my passwords anymore can you? It's SoDoFSHERLoCK, no spaces, all caps except for the O's." John chuckled. "Same for the blog."

"Why?"

"Because you have no sense of personal space. You always steal my laptop…I have to at least try to communicate with you." He smiled gently and left the room again. I logged on quickly and also logged into his blog, scrolling to the very bottom first.

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**(P.S. Thank you for noticing my mistakes people! It helps me correct them. Oh, and thank you for being polite about my mistakes, that makes me feel less blah about making them. :D )**


	3. The Blog of Dr John H Watson

**The reviews and favorites and follows are so encouraging... Here you lovely people...have another chapter. **

**I feel like I might be spoiling you... Oh well. This story is probably going to be shorter than most of my others, but hopefully with the same umph... I've been told by a friend the idea is good...but she says I'll never compete with my Doctor Who stories...which is probably why she is sending me a glare right now... I know, i know... I'll get back to it eventually...**

**I don't own Sherlock, nor do I own 'The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson', as that will be quoted later.**

**Happy reading! :D**

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The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson

There were nineteen posts on John's blog. The first one literally said nothing. The second was pointless, again literally. The fourth was written to please a woman whom I was sure was John's therapist. The fourth was boring. The fifth, however, was about serial suicides. Intriguing enough to click on, however it didn't remain about suicides for long. Apparently though, John was some sort of Casanova during and before his war-days. The next post…mentioned me.

_I was walking in the park and I bumped into Mike Stamford. We were sort of mates when we were students. We got coffee and I mentioned that I wanted to move. He said he knew of someone in a similar situation. So we went to Barts and he introduced us. _

_Except, he didn't. He didn't introduce us. The man knew who I was. Somehow he knew everything about me. He knew I'd served in Afghanistan and he knew I'd been invalided. He said my wound was psychosomatic so he didn't get everything right but he even knew why I was there, despite the fact that Mike hadn't told him._

His wound was psychosomatic…or else he'd still be limping. I thought to myself. It was obvious that John had once walked with a limp…his cane was next to the coat rack.

_It's mad. I think he might be mad. He was certainly arrogant and really quite rude and he looks about 12 and he's clearly a bit public school and, yes, I definitely think he might be mad but he was also strangely likeable. He was charming. It really was all just a bit strange._

_So tomorrow, we're off to look at a flat. Me and the madman. Me and Sherlock Holmes._

It didn't surprise me that he thought I was a madman, but charming? Likable? Who in the hell was John anyway? I went back and looked at the next entry, reading it carefully.

_So, last night I went to look at the flat. It's pretty decent actually. Sherlock had already moved in so it was a bit of a mess but that 's actually a nice change from where I was before. _

_And the madman himself? He's fascinating. Arrogant, imperious, pompous. He's not safe, I know that much. I'm not going to be bored and I doubt we're going to be arguing about whose turn it is to pay the gas bill or what we're going to watch on the telly. And yeah, he is probably most likely definitely mad. But, he knows a couple of nice restaurants so he's not all bad._

_So yes, we had a quick look at the flat and chatted to the landlady. Then the police came and asked Sherlock to look at a body so we went along to a crime scene, then we chased through the streets of London after a killer and Sherlock solved the serial suicides/murder thing._

_And then we went to this great Chinese restaurant where my fortune cookie said 'There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before. ' After the night I'd had, I beg to differ._

The next entry I read was about the case in question. Just as I started to read it John stepped back into the room, dressed in more casual clothes. "A Study in Pink?"

"You never did care much for the names." John sighed, shaking his head and looking down at his book.

_When I first met Sherlock, he told me my life story. He could tell so much about me from my limp, my tan and my mobile phone. And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things. _

"Spectacularly ignorant?" I scoffed.

"It's true and you know it. Don't make me fight you about this again."

_It was a body of a woman, dressed in pink. And she'd been poisoned. Again, Sherlock just looked at her and he knew everything about her. The way she was dressed. Splatters of mud on her leg. What was there and, more importantly, what was missing. Her suitcase. And it was that which excited him. The missing pink suitcase._

_He left the body and ran outside to searched for it, naturally leaving me behind. I spoke to a policewoman and she summed Sherlock up. She said 'he gets off on it.' And he does. He didn't care about the dead woman or any of the other victims. I suspect if he came back and found me and our landlady lying here with our throats cut, he'd just see it as an intellectual exercise. 'Fantastic' he'd exclaim, rubbing his hands together. 'But the door was locked so how did they kill each other?' The policewoman, she called him a psychopath. That seems harsh and it was hardly a professional diagnosis but I look back at what I wrote about him when I first met him. I called him the madman. _

_…_

_After that, we went on a stakeout. We waited in a restaurant to see if the killer would visit the address I'd texted him. Across the road, we saw a taxi pull up. We ran out, but it drove off. Sherlock insisted on chasing it and luckily he seemed to have an intimate knowledge of London's backstreets. Of course, as I realised afterwards, he's probably memorised the London A-Z. We ran down street after street and we managed to catch up with the taxi - only to discover that the passenger wasn't our killer. He'd only just arrived in the UK. It was the most ridiculous night of my life - I mean, an actual chase through London. People don't do that, not really. But we did._

_And, of course, by doing this, Sherlock proved my limp was psychosomatic. Did I mention he's clever?_

Clever…

_Sherlock thinks everyone else is stupid so he's like a kid at Christmas when it turns out that one of us have done something clever. I'm not talking about me but our murder victim. She hadn't lost her phone. She hadn't left it behind. She knew she was going to die so she'd left her phone in the taxi - And, like all modern phones, it had a GPS system so you could locate it. That brilliant woman had led us to her killer._

_And he was outside. He was outside our flat - in his taxi! We'd chased him halfway across London, thinking he'd been driving the killer - but he was the killer himself. That was how he'd manage to get to his victims - just by picking them up in his cab. Of course, Sherlock being completely and utterly mad, got into the taxi so he could talk to him. Again, he wasn't interested in the 'rules'. He wasn't interested in how the driver had done all this. I don't think he was particularly interested in stopping him and it didn't even cross his mind to let the police know that the man they were looking for was outside. All Sherlock Holmes was interested in was discovering why the killer had done it. He wanted to be alone with the killer so he could question him. That was more important than anything else - despite the obvious threat to his own life._

_The taxi driver drove him to a college of further education so they could both educate each other on - well, on how their minds worked, I guess. It's not something I'll ever really understand and, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever want to understand it. To be that much of a psychopath. To be that above the rest of us. To be that dangerous. It's pretty terrifying._

_Afterwards, Sherlock told me what happened. The taxi driver had a brain aneurism. He was dying. He'd pick up his victims and take them somewhere. Then he'd give them a choice. Take one of two pills - one of which was harmless and one of which would kill them. Their only other choice was that he would shoot them. It makes me furious to think about those poor people who got into his taxi - one of them was just a kid! They must have gone through hell. But Sherlock, mad old Sherlock, he understood him. As far the taxi driver was concerned, he was outliving people. He was giving himself the power of life and death. And I do, I genuinely think Sherlock understood this. _

_Myself and the police had managed to work out where they'd gone so we'd driven after them. But it was too late. By the time we got there, I could see that Sherlock was going to take one of the pills. It wasn't because he had to but because it was a game of wits. He wasn't going to let this other arrogant, pompous psychopath win. Which is when someone shot the taxi driver. Someone like that's bound to have enemies so it shouldn't have been a surprise but I hadn't seen anyone shot since Afghanistan. It's something you never really get used to. That someone could have the power of life and death over someone else - but I'm glad whoever it was did it, because they undoubtedly saved Sherlock's life. And, frankly, after everything that man had done to those innocent people who got into his car, a quick death like that was better than he deserved._

"Did you kill the cabbie?" I asked quietly.

"Sorry?" John asked, looking up at me.

"You shot the cabbie, didn't you?"

"Yes." John answered simply, nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"He was going to kill you, Sherlock. You were about to become the fifth victim… He would have killed again as well. I had a shot and I took it."

"Your hand couldn't have shaken even in the slightest."

"It didn't." John commented. "All could have been avoided if you knew how to bloody communicate. We would have caught him while he was in our flat." He sighed, looking back down at his book.

"But then I wouldn't have been able to figure out _why_ he was killing people, John. That's the important part."

"I should…go back to my room…and um…let you read through that." John said softly, getting up and leaving the room.

"But what if—"

"You won't need me." John replied shortly before his door closed behind him.

"Yoo-hoo?" Mrs. Hudson called, stepping into the room with two cups of tea. "Hello, luv. Where's John? I know he'll be wanting some tea." Mrs. Hudson had been crying, for at least ten minutes, but I chose to ignore it, taking John's advice.

"He's in his room."

"Hisroom…" She sighed under her breath before walking off in that direction. I continued reading and she toddled back in a moment later, setting the second glass of tea down next to me on the table. "I hope you figure things out soon, Sherlock."

"Do you?"

"For everyone's sake. I suppose it's just another mystery to you though." Mrs. Hudson sighed and turned to leave.

"Do you expect more out of me? Do you expect it to be more than a mystery?"

"Well…I met you before you changed, Sherlock. I knew you when you were still hard and indifferent… I know it's just a mystery to you…but truly, it's so much more. It's your life. It's my life. It's John's life. Hell, it's Lestrade and Mycroft's life too. You won't see that though…but we won't ever blame you, because we would never try to change you. No one can _try_ to change you."

"Oh…" I shrugged at her answer and looked back down. "What if I don't turn out the same way? What would you think of me then?"

"Well, we'd still care, even if you didn't."

"Sentiment is boring."

"Indeed…" Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily before she began to walk away.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes?"

"Is John married?"

"He was, dear…"

"I suppose that's why the picture's gone."

"Correct again." She nodded before she left the room, walking down the seventeen steps with a slight hesitance, a limp…old age, probably her hip.

John Watson had been married before. He still wore the ring, which meant that he must still be in love with his wife…whether she was an ex or dead, I couldn't figure out. All well and good though, I had another mystery to solve.

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**Maybe one more tonight...or two... Depends on a few things... I'm writing my favorite chapter right now...just saying. :)**


	4. Drugs and Tears

**The reviews make me smile... It is a school night though...so eventually I do have to stop... Last one tonight... Maybe one in the morning if you wish really hard and I get alot of sleep.**

**I don't own Sherlock, nor do I own 'The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson', as that will be quoted later.**

**Happy reading! :D**

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Drugs and Tears

It was under a floorboard in my room. Under a sign that said: **No** **Sherlock**. The note was written in John's handwriting, but I didn't necessarily care. Underneath the paper was a bag full of everything I needed, everything my mind craved. It would be numbing…it would stop my mind for a little while, starve the boredom. The stash hadn't been used in a long time. It was dusty… The needle looked old… It was heroin, not my preferred cocaine, but it would do just fine.

I got up and walked to the kitchen, lighting a Bunsen burner easily. The needle would need to be sterilized.

888

The tourniquet was in place, the needle in my hand, the numbing bliss was so close, when the door opened. "You would never believe that they let me out early. New doctor wanted more time to work, I thought it would be well and good to re—lax… Sherlock…" John's eyes widened in shock and disappointment. I felt like I should have felt bad as his disappointed eyes met mine. "Put it down Sherlock…" He said setting down the bag he carried and taking a small, tentative step in my direction.

"I need it, John."

"No you don't, Sherlock. We can get you a case."

"Nothing on, dull."

"Just put it down, now, please."

"You don't understand—"

"Believe me, I do, Sherlock. I understand better than you think…please…just put it down." He pleaded with me.

"I need it."

"No you don't, you haven't reached for that needle for three years, please don't turn to it now."

"Did you let me have it last time?"

"I gave you a choice last time…but it wouldn't matter to you anymore. Just trust me. You don't really need it, it's just your mind playing tricks on you."

"I'm bored!"

"Then take my gun, shot the wall, shot me if that will give you enough to distract yourself, but don't do this."

"Why do you care?" I asked as he grew closer, not quit within arms reach.

"You're my friend, even if you don't know it." John held his hand out. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I handed him the syringe. He took it and placed it on the table before he began to undo the tourniquet on my arm with gentle fingers. I could feel the very uncomfortable sensation of blood running back to my arm, but that was soothed by John gently rubbing it away. He nodded to himself and stood up, grabbing the syringe and the tourniquet, placing them in the bag they'd been in before taking them back to my room. He came back out a moment later and smiled at me faintly before picking up a bag full of groceries and beginning to put it away.

"Why did you put it back? You could have gotten rid of it."

"That's not my job, Sherlock." John commented. "My job is to trust you. My job is to trust you won't go back there again. You always told me that you needed to know it was an option…even if you never took it. Somewhere in your mind you had to know it was there…so I'm leaving it there, because you wanted it there…and because you promised you'd only take it if you had no other option."

"You stopped me today."

"Because you didn't know. Now you do." John stated. "I'm going to make tea, do you want a cuppa?"

"Yes." I answered simply. He smiled and began to move around the kitchen, setting the mug in front of me a few moments later before he went to take a shower. The tea was made to perfection. I'd been living in 221B for five weeks and everything about the place seemed like a home, even the days where John was frustrated with me.

It took me a moment to notice that John had come back. He was sitting in his chair, looking at his laptop, typing along easily. He wore a dark robe with his chest bare underneath. I noticed something glint in the light as he breathed. A chain was wrapped around his neck, holding two dog tags, a pendent for a catholic saint, and a golden band that was definitely not a female's ring. In fact it was identical to the one on John's left hand, except for the diametre of it.

"Who was he?" I asked curiously.

"Sorry, what?" John asked, looking up from his work.

"Who was he?" I nodded to the ring around his neck and finger. He looked down and grabbed the ring…looking at it sadly.

"He was everything."

"Still is by the look of it." I commented. He swallowed and nodded, biting his lip.

"Yeah…"

"What happened?"

"He left me." John sighed, trying to hide his distress, but his left hand shook, and his lower lip quivered.

"Is he dead?"

"No…"

"Why do you have his ring then?"

"He was afraid to lose it. He wasn't the neatest person…he lost things all the time… He'd always wear it when we were home…but when we left he gave it to me to keep safe. He's not coming back for it though, by the looks of it. He probably find someone new, more interesting… Someone better than me. He deserved better, I was never enough and I knew it." A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away.

"He's a fool."

"How?"

"You take care of me and I don't even know you. You could have abandoned me and I wouldn't have known the difference, but you stayed. I can only imagine how you must have cared for him when you treat a friend who doesn't even know you so kindly."

"Thank you, Sherlock…but it's really not his fault…he just had to go running off." John chuckled. "Maybe…one day he'll come back."

"You have been waiting."

"It feels like forever, Sherlock…" He put his laptop on the side-table and stood up. "I think I'm going to go get some sleep… I'm tired…" He left the room and went to his own room. After the door had closed I followed him and stood outside his door, just for a moment. He was crying, just like every other night before. I had once thought he was crying over me, but now I knew what he really cried over. He was lonely. His husband had left him, and now the person he called friend couldn't even remember him. I remembered what being lonely felt like… I was glad that John was still crying. That meant he still felt, that meant he wasn't like me.

888

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**Thank you for all of the support and smiles. **

**:D**


	5. The Ring

**Sorry... I know I promised it in the morning, but I came down with something dreadful, and let me tell you today was not my best day. I am completely out of it and pretty much dragging on the floor... But hey...enough about me...what about these boys of ours?**

**I don't own Sherlock...i wish...**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! As stated before I was having a very bad day and to see those reviews when I came home just made me so happy.**

**Happy reading! :D**

* * *

The Ring

John had had to rush off to work early on the eighth week I spent in 221B. When he came home two hours later, he was an absolute mess. His face was red and tears were running freely. "Where is it?" He cried out, running around the flat frantically, looking for something. It took me exactly half a second to realize what he was missing. His wedding ring wasn't on his finger. "God, I took it off for one moment…then the hospital had to call… I forgot…oh dear god where is it?!" He was frantic, manic, and uncontrollable.

I got up from my spot on the couch and went to the place I remembered him being before he got the call. He'd been in the bathroom, next to the sink. I looked at the sink and sure enough, there it was, gleaming in the florescent light. I picked it up and almost called out to the man who was now turning the kitchen up-side-down, but I saw the letters graved inside of the ring and froze.

_You are my heart, John_

Someone had hurt John, but John refused to say who. It was another mystery that I needed to unravel. I was once John Watson's friend…that's what friends did…right? I pocketed the ring. And walked back out into the flat. "Not in the bathroom." I commented simply.

"Damn it!" John cried out, looking as though he might be on the verge of a mental breakdown. "I can't lose it… I can't…"

"It will turn up." I shrugged, putting on my coat and scarf. John didn't even notice I was leaving as he ran around the flat like a madman. I left the flat and stepped into the street, looking down at the inside of the ring. _Tiffany_. There were seven Tiffany & Co's in London, so I started off for the closest one quickly, excited to have something to solve. It took me four minutes to get there and the instant I stepped into the shop, I had a feeling that I was in the right place.

"Sherlock?" A voice called from the front counter. I remembered the man, I had once helped cleared his name of a robbery at this Tiffany & Co. "It's been a while." He said in a heavy French accent. He was gay, for certain, going by his flamboyant scarf and manicured appearance. He moved forward and hugged me tightly, which I tentatively returned. I didn't like people touching me, it felt uncomfortable. "God it's been a few years… Whatever you need, ma chéri, just say the word." He smiled widely.

"I need to know who bought this ring." I said, handing it to him. He picked it up and looked at it for a moment before confusion filled his features.

"Are you being serious?" He asked, looking at me like I was crazy as he handed back the ring.

"Very. I need to know who bought this."

"Well, he's in the shop right now."

"Who—?"

"You bought the ring…for John a few years ago." A huge weight dropped into my stomach, the man in front of me wasn't lying to me, that or he was a damn good actor. "I asked you about it when you came to buy. You said you met someone named John a week earlier and that you knew one day you'd ask him, because he made you feel again." He explained and then laughed. "John came in a month later, picked out the exact same style ring and told me it was for the most brilliant man he'd ever met. It took you two three months after that to finally tell each other. Oh, the wedding was wonderful." He clapped his hands happily. "I always did enjoy a happy ending. You both deserved one. Why are you asking? Is this an experiment to test the capacity of human memory or something like that? I think I passed if it was."

"I'm John's husband…" I breathed, feeling rather sick. I _was_ the man John was crying over every night. There was a reason why that sign would have stopped me from touching the drugs, there was a reason why one of John's worn out jumpers was stuffed behind my bed, the missing picture on the desk had been of us… Mrs. Hudson seemed so sad for John, she had said '_his room' _wish so much despair… John had seemed so much more pained than someone who'd lost a friend. He'd lost a husband… I had literally run off and forgotten him.

"Of course…of god you didn't know that?"

"I hit my head…I can't remember anything."

"Oh, poor John…" The man said in a shocked voice. I ignored him and walked out of the store and onto the street. I had married John Watson. I could see why. He obviously cared about me and he was smart, well, smarter than the average crowd. He was my moral compass and he would obviously be an emotional rock for me if I let him. He cared about me, and at one point I had loved him.

I walked home slowly and placed the ring on the table before sitting down on the sofa. The flat had been wrecked. John had obviously turned the entire place up-side-down while I had been away. Now I could hear him downstairs talking to Mrs. Hudson, hopeful that she had seen his ring and moved it. A few moments later John rushed back up the stairs, his eyes locking onto the table as he breathed a huge sigh of relief. He slid the ring on quickly and stared at it for a moment before lowering his hand and looking at the carnage he had wrought.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked softly.

"Tell you what?"

"Why did you tell me that we were married, John?" I inquired seriously. John paled instantly. "You obviously love me, or you wouldn't have been so frantic about finding your ring, so you weren't trying to hide our marriage from me as an escape route. There is another reason for you keeping me in the dark, what is it?"

"Sherlock…I—"

"Don't, just tell me the truth." I ordered. John slowly sat down in the armchair across from me. Something about him looked extremely fragile, as if one touch could make him shatter into a million pieces.

"I didn't want you to…feel compelled to love me." John said, undoing his necklace and lifting it out from under his shirt, handing it to me. I pulled the ring off of the chain and looked at the engraving.

_You have all my love, Sherlock_

I slid the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit, obviously my ring. I heard John whimper and I looked up, it must have hurt him to see me put on the ring, so I took it off slowly. "I don't understand."

"I was afraid…that if I told you, you would leave or just pretend to love me. I couldn't handle it. I knew you might stay…if you didn't know. I thought it would buy me some time to try and help you get your memory back… I just wanted to be with you…" He swore, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I didn't care if you never remembered me, I would never try to change you… I just had to have you in my life, in whatever capacity I could manage."

"You love me…"

"More than I can bear…" John looked down and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry… If…you want me to leave I can. I just…"

"Don't leave… I'm not…I'm not who I used to be…but—"

"I don't need you to pity me, Sherlock…" John shook his head. "I don't need you to fake something for me, just because you think it's what you're supposed to do… It'll…be fine… I can leave." John stood up, fidgeting.

"I wouldn't be faking." I stated truthfully. John froze and looked at me. "I mean…I don't know what love feels like…but I am attracted to you, John. Just…stay. We can try to figure this out." I offered. "Just stay." He stared at me for a long moment. "You obviously made me fall in love for you once…you can try to do it again."

"But I didn't do anything. You _were _always too good. So much brighter and beautiful. I was just the bruised army doctor."

"Be him again then…" I stated simply. If it had worked the first time, it could work again. I wasn't fond of emotions, but the warmth John had around him like a blanket made me long to feel more.

"I'll do anything." John promised, nodding.

"Alright then…" I smiled up at him as reassuringly as I could. "You should get some sleep, you had a trying day."

"Yeah… Thanks…Sherlock." He looked at me for a moment, as if he really wanted to say something more, but he shook his head and left the room.

Time for a new set of experiments.

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**Okay... Am I the only one who thought that John sort of had a Gollum moment. I almost threw in 'THE PRESCIOUS IS LOST!' when he went frantic over the ring... Just me? Okay... :)**

** Thank you for all of the support and smiles. **

**:D**


	6. No Need for Experiments

**Glad I wasn't the only one who saw John Watson running around looking for prescious in that last chapter. **

**I should really be working on my other stories... I'm at what...4 unfinished stories right now? That's not a good record at all...but gosh darn it my mind got BORED and decided to move on without me.**

**I am considering taking down my oldest story and coming back to it later.**

**I've Just Got One is at a point where it can stand alone (even though I will write more!) so I'll leave that one up.**

**Of Might and Magic...I don't even know... I know what happens but I can't write it no matter how hard i try...damn writers block, something about Arthur killing Merlin just makes me freeze up.**

**I promise! I am working on Rebirth, Redemption, Hello...It's just...slow.**

**OH! and if that wasn't a big enough list for you! I just got a new Sherlock Fic Idea just now...and, you guessed it...it's a tear-jerker. God...I love my imagination...but really? I think I have creative ADD.**

**Ending my rant now!**

**I don't own Sherlock...i wish...**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! **

**Happy reading! :D**

* * *

No Need for Experiments

I looked down at the body, ignoring the yammering of the people just outside of the crime scene. "What have you got, Sherlock?" Lestrade wondered.

"The man was married, but not faithfully. His ring is missing, but the line from him wearing it is still there. That means not only was it taken off recently, it also means it was too small for his finger, which shows just how much he _didn't _value his wife. However, the fact that there are cuts on his ring finger suggest that his ring was forcibly removed this time."

"Another lover," John suggested. I looked up at him with wide eyes and couldn't help but smile. That must have been one of the reasons I fell in love with him. He could almost keep up.

"A lover did this?" Lestrade questioned. I nodded and looked down at the body again.

"The ring was ripped off of his finger and the many times he was stabbed suggests a crime of passion. This man's lover was very angry at him." I paused before standing up. "This man was very strong, obviously going by the fact that he taught a Brazilian Ju-jitsu class, going by the tattoo on his arm and the black belt in his bag…"

"A woman couldn't have done this… He lover was a man." John added before I could say it aloud. "Don't look at me like you're shocked, I saw the bruise on his neck, far too big to be a woman's." John rolled his eyes at me.

"Yes…you're looking for a man taller than me, skilled in martial arts, about twenty five years old, brown hair, and—John?" I asked, noticing that he was gone.

"Dammit John!" Lestrade shouted after the man who was running through the crowd after the man who was surely the murderer. I didn't hear Lestrade finish his thoughts as I chased off after John myself. I ran through the shocked crowd and down an alley way to see John standing face to face with the murderer, his gun pointed at him steadily.

"Alright…put the knife down and we can do this the easy way." John said in a steady voice.

"You don't understand—"

"He chose his wife over you, didn't he?" John asked in a compassionate voice. "You loved him, but in the end he chose her."

"You don't know pain like me. I love him!" The man shouted back at John, neither of them noticing me.

"I've seen war before, boy. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten, and been strapped to a bomb more times than I can count. You think you're the only person in the world who's loved and lost? A few months ago a criminal took my husband from me, you can bet your arse I wanted to stab that man a hundred times over, I'm a doctor, I could have made it very painful…but I didn't. You made the wrong choice…now you have to own it, put down the knife now, or I promise you I won't be so quick to give another chance." John looked at the man for a few seconds who looked down at the knife. "You won't have a chance. I'm faster than you, trust me. You don't want murder and _attempted_ assault do you?" The knife hit the ground just as Lestrade came around the corner. John quickly slipped his gun back into its hiding place in the small of his back before walking towards me.

"You knew who it was." I commented. "You weren't even there to hear my description."

"You glanced at him four times while you were looking at the body… I saw the guilt and pain on his face. It really wasn't a difficult leap, especially when his hand had blood on it." John smiled as Lestrade cuffed the man.

"You…" I didn't know what to say to him.

"I learned a few things from you." John commented with a shrug, watching the criminal get dragged off.

"Brilliant…"

"That's my line." John chuckled.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."

A man who could eat after seeing a crime scene… I was starting to see why I began to fall in love with John.

888

"Sherl—" I didn't even stop to look at John as I rushed away from the crime scene calling the answer back at Lestrade as steadily as I could.

"It was the uncle." I stated before I got into a cab and left quickly. I hated these crime scenes. Everyone always assumed I was unfeeling, that nothing ever got to me. In some ways they were right. I could look at a dead body objectively and not care about what had killed them or their pain. I could solve nonviolent crimes easily…but…there was something about looking at a victim who was still alive, and seeing the hell they were still living through. The little girl in the hospital I had had to look at was no different. She'd been abused in more ways than one and was absolutely terrified to talk to anyone. Even John who was remarkable with children couldn't coax a word out of her.

The scars…the bruises… She was just a little girl. Just a little girl who was different than everyone else. She wasn't 'normal' by human standards. Most would call her 'special'…but that wasn't true. She was just brilliant and gifted, misunderstood. Just because her brain worked a different way didn't make her worth anything less than her peers, it made her unique. The world had tried to suffocate her, snuff out her light before she'd begun to truly shine…

I knew why her case got under my skin so much…it was _my _case. I could remember the abuse my father had slathered me with. Mycroft had it easy, he was smart and sociable. I had been difficult for my father, never good enough even though I was just as smart as Mycroft. Father had tried to destroy me too when he saw that I was different…just like Donovan and Anderson, wanting to squash everything that wasn't like them. Normal, boring…

I paid the cabbie in a daze and quickly made my way into the flat, heading straight to my room and locking the door behind me. It was childish and stupid and so pedestrian, but I could stop the tears or the tremors or the memories. I couldn't move, everything hurt. No sound could reach my ears. The room had gone blurry due to my tears. Even the floor seemed unsteady, but my mind knew it was just the force of my tears making the room shake.

I never heard the lock click. I never heard the floor creak. But I did feel warm arms wrap around me, grounding me, calming me. "It's alright, Sherlock… I've got you. It's okay, 'Lock." John's voice promised in its most soothing tone. I couldn't stop myself from leaning against his chest and crying against him. He felt safe to me, warm. He ran his fingers through my hair in a very comforting way as he let me cry.

That's what astonished me. He never tried to stop me from crying. He never told me to grow up. He never told me I was being silly… He didn't try to _change _me. He just let me cry, making sure that I knew he'd be there 'til the end.

888

I was supposed to be experimenting on John. I was supposed to be trying to figure out why I had loved him, instead I _was _falling in love with him. I hadn't even the faintest clue what the word love even meant, but the more I watched John, the more he touched my cold heart, the more I learned about love and the more I wanted to give to him. There was no need for experiments…not for John Hamish Watson. If anyone needed to have research done it was me. How in the hell was I supposed to give enough love to a man who never stopped pouring his love on me?

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**Okay... So... I'm pretty sure there's only going to be a few more chapters left. Maybe two or three... So...yeah...**

**:D**


	7. The Stranger Wears Westwood

**Sorry it's such a short chapter...but it sets up the finale. :)**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! **

**Happy reading! :D**

* * *

The Stranger Wears Westwood

John was helping Mrs. Hudson out of the flat while I walked up the seventeen steps. The door was closed to the flat. Someone had been in our flat, not Mrs. Hudson though…she knows we leave the door open. I turned to call out to John, but he was outside, talking to Mrs. Hudson as she got into her cab. I shrugged and opened the door, stepping into the flat. Sitting in John's armchair was a stranger in a Westwood suit. His hair was dark and slicked down to perfection. His nails were manicured, his eyebrows plucked and tinted. Everything about him was far too neat and far too orderly. Obsessive compulsive?

"Hello, Sherlock, dear." He spoke with an Irish lit. His voice light. He knew me. How? What was the connection?

"Hello," I replied simply, sitting in my chair and looking at him with narrowed eyes. Who was he?

"That's all the enthusiasm you have for me? And I thought we were friends." He chuckled.

"Why are you in my flat?"

"Oh, just checking in. You know how it is." He shrugged, helping himself to an apple. "You and John have a tiff? You claimed the flat was your own… Did Johnny Boy make you angry? You must know how hard it can be to keep a husband in check some days." This man knew that John and I were married. He knew us well. He was very smart. His eyes were looking me up and down as though he was seeing through me.

"Who are you?" I asked, my eyes narrowed. "Judging by your tone I am guessing we aren't friends."

"Is this some sort of joke?" He asked seriously, his voice far deeper than it had been.

"No… I don't joke." I promised him, my eyes narrowing.

"I had heard that you had an accident." He said, leaning back in the chair, looking shocked. "But I didn't think that it was _this _bad. You've forgotten me…" His dark eyes grew angry and his body tensed. "It's John's fault. He's supposed to look after you! What am I to do if you are in no condition to play the game? It's John's fault!" He seemed so positively livid with John that I feared for John's safety.

"You?" John's voice filled the room. I could tell just by his tone that he'd gone into 'captain' mode. The whole room was charged with a tense energy that only grew worse when John drew his gun and pointed it at the man in his armchair. "What are you doing here?"

"I was here to have a nice chat…but Sherlock doesn't even know who I am. Could you explain why that is?" the man asked angrily, standing up. John's hand didn't shake a bit as it remained on the man.

"He hit his head. Now, leave Moriarty." John hissed coldly.

"John…" I warned when I saw three laser sights grace John's chest.

"You really want to tempt me?" John asked. "I can shot faster than they can. You'll be dead before they can think about pulling the trigger."

"You'll be dead as well." Moriarty smirked.

"I don't care. It's not like I'm remembered either. You'll be dead and Sherlock will never have to worry about you again… It's worth it."

"Ooh, the sentiment comes out now… Did you even try to stop him from hurting himself?" Moriarty glared at John.

"Yes I did."

"Not hard enough. I only left you alive in that pool because I thought you being around would benefit the game, not hinder it."

"Sorry to disappoint. Leave." Moriarty slowly moved up to glare at John.

"You'll pay for this Johnny Boy. I'll take you out and I'll have _all _of Sherlock's attention without you here to distract him."

"Can't wait."

"Ciao, Johnny Boy. Next time…you won't have your trusty gun with you. I promise you that. I'm going to rip you apart piece by piece." Moriarty looked him up and down before walking away. "Don't worry Sherlock… He won't be a bother to you much longer." He called back to me as he went down the stairs.

"Get away from the windows." John insisted, grabbing me quickly and leading me down the hall where no windows could expose us to the snipers.

"I don't understand…"

"God…I should record that…make it my ringtone." John chuckled. "That was Jim Moriarty. And apparently he blames me for your loss of memory…and also he wants me dead. He has this obsession with you…"

"He can't kill you." I insisted. John looked up at me, his face going softer…more like _my _John.

"He won't. We just have to be careful. He can do anything he wants if we give him even an inch of space to work in." John smiled. "We'll be fine."

* * *

**Moriarty doesn't like that Sherlock's been hurt... Possesive much?**

**What will happen to John?**

**Hmmmm...**


	8. What Happened?

**I'm really sorry...but this story doesn't lend itself to long chapters...sort of sucks... I love writing long chapters... For further proof see The Eleventh Hour or Voyage of the Damned...14,000 words later...lmao. **

**Sorry this takes so long... I have not had my creative gears turning correctly these past few weeks... Don't ask why... I don't know why.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews and favorites and follows! Thank you for telling me about my mistake in chapter 2 as well, I've corrected it now. And thank you for being super polite about it.**

**Happy reading! :D**

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What Happened?

"Moriarty…he was the one at the pool, right?" I wondered, looking at John seriously.

"Yes…he strapped me to a bomb…" John commented, glancing up at me.

"He knows about us…"

"Yes…we never wore our rings in public back then, but when he figured out we were married within six seconds of talking to us, we sort of threw that rule out the window." John shrugged simply.

"I'm so—"

"It's fine…it's all fine."

"It isn't fine. It hurts you to talk about our past… It hurts you because I don't remember, but I still ask you about it."

"It doesn't matter." John smiled gently at me and got up. "Tea?"

"No thank you…" I whispered in reply. He walked off to the kitchen anyway, leaving me behind, still full of questions.

"Got anything on?" John wondered when he came back, sitting down across from me.

"There's more…"

"Again with the ignoring my questions…" John muttered, annoyed. "More to what?"

"What happened that night with Moriarty? I don't understand, you need to tell me everything." I insisted. I had seen John stand down serial killers, looking at them like they were small even though John was smaller. John never looked afraid when he was surrounded with danger, he looked alive…but when Moriarty was in the room… John was different.

"He set out a puzzle for you. Five pips. Each pip corresponding to a crime. If you figured out what was wrong with each crime he'd spare lives, if you failed he'd blow up whomever he held hostage."

"I solved each of them, correct?"

"Technically, yes. However, he blew up an old woman for telling you what he sounded like." John explained. "The first was a woman, you had to solve the Carl Powers murder to save her…which you did. The second was a young man…you had to solve what happened to Ian Monkford. You figured he'd skipped off to Columbia, so that man was set free. Then there was the Connie Prince mystery. Everyone thought that she was killed by a nail she'd cut herself with, but she had actually been poisoned. You solved it…but the old woman who had been strapped to semtex she died—not your fault. The last one was a dead security guard at the museum . You figured that one out and saved a little boy…"

"And the fifth?" I asked when he paused.

"We had a row that night. I was…disappointed in you. It's just sometimes you forget people are human…that they have feelings. I don't know…I was just angry that you could pretend not to feel anything…and—"

"Worried that that somehow meant I could fake being in love with you." I said in understanding.

"Yeah…well…god help me I needed some air…"

"You were the fifth pip…"

"No… Andrew West and the Bruce-Partington Plans were the fifth pip, I was just the man strapped to explosives."

"What happened?"

"I left the house, black car pulled up… I figured it was Mycroft being a prat. He hides cameras in the flat, he gets annoying when we fight."

"I usually get rid of the cameras."

"Usually…yeah, but I didn't know if they were gone yet or if he'd just put them back. I got in the car and I'm pretty sure there was a tranquilizer…I don't really remember that part though…" Something about his posture changed. His eyes darkened for a minute, but then lightened again. "I woke up wrapped in semtex and Moriarty told me that if I didn't say what he told me to he'd blow me up, which obviously included you…so I did as he said. You…were upset when I stepped out. For a moment, I think you believed I was Moriarty and that I'd betrayed you, but then I showed you the semtex. Anyway…you two went at it. Then Moriarty got a call and left us alone."

"No…that's not it. There's more."

"No there isn't."

"You're scared of him!"

"He wrapped me in semtex!" John protested.

"You were captured and tortured in Afghanistan and was shot when you escaped. Semtex isn't _that _scary."

"Well, let me tell you it _is _that scary."

"You're lying to me. What happened? Why would I be angry with someone who was being so brilliantly interesting?"

"Just, leave it, Sherlock." John insisted, getting up and walking to the kitchen. _Something had happened. _

"John I may not remember some of my past, but I know myself. I may throw fits, but I rarely get angry. Moriarty must have done something…something that crossed a line."

"Sherlo—"

"He raped you." I said with wide eyes…figuring it out. John let out a slow breath.

"I don't need to go through this again… I already had to talk to you about it once before… I…I can't do it again. Especially when you're—"

"Not me…apparently." I supplied for him. He gave a half shrug…he agreed. He doesn't trust me… He thinks that I don't care. Perhaps I didn't care, not nearly as much as he was used to. I don't care enough…and it breaks his heart. Why does he bother having a heart at all if it hurts him so much? Why did _I _bother?

"Yes…it hurts… It hurts seeing you every day, knowing that you may not even care for me…but the pain's worth it. After all, I do get to see you still. You're alive and breathing and brilliant…I can't be selfish and ask for anything more."

"I don't…understand…"

"You wouldn't… You're an arrogant, selfish, needy, childish, brilliant man who has absolutely no recollection of feelings beyond the addiction to cocaine and the adrenalin of a good case… And god help me, that's the man I fell in love with… The man who fell in love with me… The one who became so much more than I ever thought anyone could be… I can't even think about changing you, because I know how you despise it. I can't leave you because I couldn't bare it, but I can't stay because it kills me." John shook his head and sighed heavily. "If there is a god, he's cruel. He injured me so that I could meet you, made me fall in love with you, and then he took it all away… Lovely chap." John snorted before turning away.

"John… Where are you going?"

"Out, I need some air." John replied going down the stairs quickly and out into the street. He was hurting…and I couldn't stop it. I didn't know how. He was a friend, but I could never stop his pain.

Wait…wasn't going out a bad idea?

* * *

**I have a feeling John's left his gun at home, don't you?**

**It's hard to remember something like that when your heart's broken.**

**Shall I tell you what the title to the next chapter is?**

**Naw...that would just be cruel...changed my mind. You can wait for it without having a title to make you freak out about... But...then again me talking like this is rather ominous too isn't it? Sorry. My bad.**

**Shutting up now.**

**:)**


	9. Death At St Bart's

**Happy reading! :D**

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Death At St Bart's

_"Sherlock run!" John shouted, his arms wrapping around Moriarty._

_"Oh-ho-ho! Good! Very good!" Moriarty jeered. _

_"Your snipers shoot and we all go up."_

_"Oh…he's sweet. I can see why you like having him around, but then, people do get so sentimental about their pets… Oh, and what a wonderful pet Johnny Boy is… So touchingly loyal." Moriarty twisted his face towards John, his lip nearly pressing to John's jaw. John's grip tightened around Moriarty's neck. I was sure, that if he made the slightest move, he could break Moriarty's neck, but he didn't. John let go, for me._

_The world was black, but I could hear the sound of running water and the almost silent sounds of John's sobs. I opened my eyes and walked to the bathroom door. A bright light shone from underneath it, dimmed slightly by the steam that rolled out from under it. I opened the door and the room was thick with steam, making it nearly impossible to see the shower from the door. I moved forward and looked into the shower. _

_John was curled up under the spray, his skin red and scalded by the hot water. He was shaking and crying, his head hidden in his hands. I reached out and turned down the hot water before stepping in after him, not bothering to undress. I knelt down next to him and gently touched his cheek. He flinched. _

_"John… Oh, John… Look at me." Slowly he lifted his head and looked at me with his red-rimmed eyes. "It's alright… It's okay, it's me."_

_"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I didn't—I couldn't—"_

_John felt like he betrayed me. He was in pain…that would never do. "It's not your fault. It's alright." I whispered, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him against my chest. "I won't let him touch you again. I promise. I'll kill him if he even thinks about it." I swore, holding him tightly. I could feel him sobbing against me and it tugged at my heart. I somehow managed to get him out of the shower and managed to dry him off gently, so as not to hurt his scalding skin, nor irritate the bruises and bite marks that littered his skin._

_"So dirty…I feel so…dirty." My heart grew tight, seizing in agony even when I knew it was impossible._

_"I can make you clean again." I promised. I manage to get him into our bedroom and gently set him on the bed. My dressing gown was wet so I took it off, thankful that all of my clothes hadn't been soaked. I reached down and gently touched the dog tags around John's neck. Opening the latch and slipping the ring off of the chain, before sliding it onto my finger where it belonged. I then placed the necklace around my own neck, knowing that it would help reassure John, remind him that I wasn't going to leave him._

_I could tell that some of his tension had left him at just that movement. He really had thought that I thought less of him because of what that monster did to him. John is a strong man. He was in the army, he isn't afraid of physical pain. Shoot him in the shoulder and he'll dig out the bullet fragments with his free hand and still remain silent so that his enemy can't find him… However, John is so wonderfully full of emotion… That was the way to break him, and that's just what Moriarty did to my love._

_I would do everything to fix it…_

_Then I'd kill Moriarty, painfully._

_ No one would ever find out that I'd done it._

_No one would find the body._

_Not even Mycroft._

_"I love you, John…" I promised, kissing him gently._

_"I love you too." I smiled at him gently before kissing every inch of his body and covering every one of the marks Moriarty had left behind with marks of my own. Erasing the evidence that Moriarty had ever been there._

888

I woke up and shook my head. I never dreamed, it just didn't happen. Was that a memory that had come back to me? I'd have to ask John. He would know. I got up and walked to John's bedroom, opening the door and stepping inside. John wasn't there. He must still be upset with me. I almost walked out of the room, except a thin piece of black wood caught my eye. It was slid under the solitary pillow on John's bed. I moved forward and reached for it, pulling it out slowly.

It was a black picture frame with scribbled hand-writing on the back.

_Managed to get this picture at the crime scene… I suppose I win the bet. I can take a good picture! ~Greg Lestrade_

I turned the frame over and looked at the picture. It was the first solid evidence of a relationship between myself and John (excluding the rings). We were standing in the rain not too far from a police care, wrapped in each other's arms, our lips just barely brushing against one another's. It had obviously been a rough case, there was an obvious bruise on my face and John had a cut over his eyebrow.

"I always loved that picture."

I jumped nearly four feet into the air.

I hadn't heard Mrs. Hudson enter the room.

"Do you know when it was taken?"

"It was about three months after you two were married." Mrs. Hudson explained. "You two refused to have anyone take pictures at your wedding… And you used to always criticize Greg's abilities to take pictures at crime scenes, so when he saw the two of you like that he just had to take the picture. He said you two deserved a good picture together. Of course then he bragged for a month about being able to catch you two being so sweet in public."

"Do you recall the case?"

"It was dreadful." Mrs. Hudson nodded. "A serial rapist. He ended up hitting you and cutting poor John twice. Though, the rapist was a lot worse for wear than the two of you were in the end."

"Mmm…" I sighed my mind slipping into thought, but interrupted by my phone. I looked down at the phone quickly, it might have been John.

_Can you take a look at a body for a case? Should be at the morgue by now. –GL_

How could I refuse?

888

"When did things change?" I wondered as I looked down at the dead woman on the table.

"Excuse me?" Lestrade wondered, looking up at me.

"John and I, we went from flat mates to what I presume was lovers… How did that happen?" I wondered, wanting to piece things together.

"We all knew you liked each other. Everyone who saw you together knew that." Lestrade smiled. "John told me that it was on a case…that you ended up hurting yourself. He said you were both stuck in the middle of no-where for five hours with a killer trying to hunt you in the woods. He said he just had to tell you, because he didn't know if you would both make it or not…so he did. You've both been attached at the hip since." He chuckled. "Speaking of… Where's John?"

"Out. He was angry with me." The phone rang and I answered it quickly. "Hello?"

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly.

"John, are you alright? Look I'm sorry… I'm tryin—"

"It's fine Sherlock… It's alright."

"Are you okay?" His voice sounded off.

"Yeah… I just wanted to tell you…"

"Tell me what?"

"I know it…it probably doesn't mean anything to you…but I can't stand that we fought… I—I'm sorry."

"It's fine, John." I promised. "I wanted to ask you something actually… It's about a dream I had."

"You dreamed?" John asked, sounding shocked.

"Yeah—well…" There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go."

"Oh…I'll tell you later."

"…Of course. Love you, Sherlock." Did John's voice shake?

"Oh… Goodbye John."

"Goodbye Sherlock." John said before hanging up on me.

"Everything alright?" Lestrade wondered.

"Yes, I think so. He doesn't seem mad at me anymore."

"He must be going through hell. I mean, I know you've been going through a lot, but at least you don't have to remember better days. He's stuck remembering everything." Molly said from another table, her voice very quiet. She'd been more distant than usual. I didn't respond to her, I didn't have to.

"You're looking for someone with military experience." I told Lestrade five minutes later. "Someone with large hands, approximately six feet tall, and—"

"Detective!" A man shouted from the door.

"Yes?" Lestrade asked seriously.

"There were just gun shots from the roof. There's a body on the roof!"

* * *

**It seems like Sherlock's remembering somehtings, even if it's just subconsciously.**

**What body is lying on top of Bart's?**

**Shutting up now.**

**:)**


	10. The Still Blood

**Shortest chapter ever...of all time.**

**Sorry about that. :/**

**A few more chapters left.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

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**Ect.**

**Happy reading! :D (Well...not really)**

* * *

The Still Blood

I stepped out into the overcast light that flooded the rooftop and the very first thing I saw was Jim Moriarty lying in a pool of blood, a bullet wound to his heart. A perfect shot, done on purpose and not by himself. What really caught my eye were the very light footprints on the ground, almost indiscernible.

"Don't move!" I ordered, leaning down to look at the prints. Lestrade's phone went off and he pulled it out, his face going very pale for a minute, his body tense before he relaxed slightly. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing…the kids doing stupid things." Lestrade stated simply.

"Someone else is on this rooftop." I stated following the footsteps across the top of the building behind a large metallic vent. There was a body crumpled on the ground, a pool of red blood surrounding them. The sandy blonde hair was very familiar…as were the clothes…and the build…

John.

"John?" I called out grabbing his shoulder gently. "John?!" As I turned him over I saw his blue eyes staring up, seeing nothing. They looked as though all of the life had been drained out of them. I could hear Lestrade behind me, practically shouting into his phone, but I knew it was too late. I pressed my hand to John's wrist to find nothing. The blood was still in his veins.

John Watson was dead.

I didn't understand why my heart suddenly felt like it had turned to stone, but the weight was unbearable. I pulled away from him slowly as several nurses and doctors swarmed around John. I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew Lestrade was there, pulling me away from John's body. I noticed then that John's gun was on the ground and made the connection. John had killed Moriarty.

But who had killed John?

One of Moriarty's men?

I needed the bullet.

I _had _to have the bullet.

I could figure it out if I had the bullet.

888

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called as he walked into the flat.

"Sebastian Moran killed John." I stated tiredly.

"You stole that evidence."

"Not like you lot were getting anywhere!" I snapped back.

"Listen…I know you're upset about John, but I need you too—" I was on my feet in an instant.

"He was my friend! My best friend, Lestrade! Don't tell me to be calm and rational!" I was pacing now, my heart thudding rapidly. Why was I so distressed? I worked with murder every day.

"Sherlock—"

"I may not remember half of our time together, but I _knew_ him. He was _good_. Now a good man's dead because of me!" That's it…that's why I felt so sad, so hurt. It wasn't completely that he'd died, it was because I had caused it. I had effectively killed my friend—hell my husband.

"Sherlock—!" I didn't want to hear it anymore, not even a single word. I stormed off but tripped on the step in the front room. The colors in the walls blurred and my head smacked the edge of a table, hard.

Everything went black.

888

* * *

**Oh...cliffy... So sorry everyone.**

**Now...does Sherlock wake up never knowing John...or does he wake up and remember?**

**Gosh I'm evil.**

**:)**


	11. Falling Apart

**Longer chapter this time! Whoo!**

**Thanks for the reviews. I sort of winced at the talkin' to I recieved...but hey... It happens when you kill people.**

**Oh...and about Sherlock forgetting John... No Dice.**

**Sorry! I have too much fun with this.**

**Happy reading! **

* * *

Falling Apart

_"Hello, handsome." I leaned back instinctively into John's warm arms. "Come to bed…"_

_"But John—"_

_"Please…come to bed. You haven't slept in five days…and I'm lonely." I could never resist that, and John knew it. If John was lonely, I'd be there._

_888_

_Sometimes, John had nightmares…_

_Those nights I played my violin until he slept._

_Sometimes he woke up screaming…_

_It was those nights that I held him tighter and rocked him back to sleep._

_Sometimes he'd wake up not knowing exactly where he was…_

_Those nights I'd usually end up with a black eye—once a broken wrist—but I never left his side._

_888_

_John and I had bought each other the very same style of ring, from the same store, from the same salesman, and we'd both gotten an engraving on them._

_Perfect._

_888_

_Even when we fought…nothing could truly make him leave me. Even when I was terrible he stayed there for me, not that I ever deserved it. John has a scar on his right arm to prove it. "You have to stop this Sherlock. You can't hurt yourself like this."_

_"It stops me being bored." I insisted._

_"Cutting yourself won't make you any better, Sherlock!"_

_"I get bored! So bored!"_

_"Please, Sherlock. Stop this. Don't do this anymore."_

_"Why should I?"_

_"Well, I suppose if you're bored I'm not doing my job correctly then, am I?" John frowned, leaving the room. I had no idea that he would be returning with my razor dug into his arm. The message was clear, every time I cut, he would too. He'd bleed with me._

_I never cut again…ever._

_888_

_I had a whole wing of my mind palace devoted to John Watson and everything associated to him (except his nasty ex-girlfriends; deleted). I also had three note books full of sketches of him hidden in my closet. I never told him I could draw… I'm going to give them to him on our anniversary. I think he'll like them. I might keep a few of the nude ones though…_

_888_

_John thought I'd been asleep, but I was wide awake, feigning sleep so that I could bask in the glory that was John Hamish Watson for a little bit longer. He is always extra sweet when he thought I was sleeping. I don't understand why. But, he whispers to me, holds me, draws soothing patterns over my skin…and sometime even kisses wherever he can reach without disturbing me._

_"So perfect, 'Lock…" John would sometimes whisper in the dark, kissing me. "My Sherlock…"_

"Sherlock."

_Sweet, gentle hands…so caring…steady. The only thing that mattered in the world._

"Sherlock!"

_John's warmth…love…adoration. Perfect John._

"SHERLOCK!"

888

I opened my eyes and looked up at Lestrade. "What…what happened?"

"Oh thank god, Sherlock. You hit your head. I was afraid that you—"

"Where's John?" I asked quietly. John was supposed to be home. Why wasn't he here? I'd just hit my head, he'd never _not _come for me.

"Sherlock, I was just going to talk to you about—"

"Where's my husband, Lestrade?" I asked sharply, pushing myself onto my feet.

"I was—wait, your husband? You remember?"

"Oh god… I'd forgotten. I forgot about _my _John! How could I have forgotten _my John!? _God, he must be feeling dreadful! I have to go find—" The red blotch of blood on my hands brought everything back to life.

John laying alone on a rooftop.

Blood everywhere.

No pulse.

Dead.

Dead.

Too late.

"No…" I could feel myself starting to panic, every bit of fear I'd ever witnessed suddenly seemed small compared to the agony that drowned my heart.

"Sherlock—"

"Sebastian Moran." I said simply, my hands shaking as I quickly pulled on my coat.

"Sher—what?" Lestrade asked.

"He's going to die… Don't worry, you won't find the evidence and don't try to stop me."

"But Sherlock, John—"

"Can't be bothered now…" I said rushing towards the door.

Someone had taken everything from me…

They would pay.

A heart for a heart.

888

It was John Watson that kept me from falling apart. Even when he was gone he still kept me alive…well, at least a little alive. He gave me a purpose.

One last purpose.

One last mystery.

One last murder—Sebastian's of course being the last _murder._

Suicide however…that would truly be the last adventure for me.

It didn't take me long to track Sebastian Moran. He was stupid…ad records were easy to come by when people owed you.

That's why I was sitting in a small flat, waiting. Sebastian would be home any minute. He was a military man and wouldn't run from me…but he should… No one sane would want to be in the same room as me.

The man stepped into the flat a few moments later, his eyes widening when he saw me. He knew who I was and why I was here. Good.

"Sherlock I—" He slowly backed up, his hands raised. Surrendering. "You have to listen to me, please."

"You didn't listen to John." I looked him over briefly. "No…of course you didn't. You're a sniper, the only person you were listening to was Moriarty."

"Sherlock—"

"Why don't you sit down." He instantly sat down, as if he knew exactly what danger he was in just by my tone. "You took something precious from me."

"Sherlock, haven't you—?" I stood up in a rush. There was nothing left in the way of sanity in my head and he knew it. The war veteran of thirteen years knew there was no fighting me. The way he held himself showed that he had already given up all hope of fighting me. He was going to lose, and he knew it. In a single instant I could tell the world his whole life, but it didn't matter…no one was there to tell me that it was amazing or brilliant or extraordinary.

Things were a bit of a blur…

A knife in my hand…

A broken heart…

A disturbed mind palace…

A trembling man who knew he was going to die…

And a rather loud noise at the door.

* * *

**Oh... another cliffy... Sorry everyone.**

**I'm evil. If you've read my other stories...you know just how evil I can be.**

**Why is the door loud? ****I don't know just yet myself. I don't know why I put it there. Now I have to come up with a reason... Not just a cliffy for you, but for me too... I'll sleep on it.**


	12. Please

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews... A few of them had me crying with how lovely they were.**

**So...I sort of don't like this chapter. I don't know... It just didn't sit right with me... I'm sorry if it's crap, honestly I can't figure out how to fix it. It makes me mad.**

**Anyway! Thanks for reading! It's been a pleasure.**

* * *

Please

The door was practically ripped open before I could move. I'd expected this. Of all the people who could show up, he was exactly who I expected. "Sherlock…put the knife down, please." Mycroft whispered, looking between me and Sebastian with wide eyes.

"He shot John…"

"I know, I know he did, but you have to let me talk, put the knife down."

"He deserves to die…twice."

"Sherlock…please. Locky…please. John would never condone you becoming a murderer." I couldn't tell if the floor was shaking more or if I was, but considering the lack of seismic activity I was sure I was the one shaking.

"Mycroft, just turn around and leave, I promise there won't be anything left behind."

"Except for my little brother's dead body, is that right? Oh…of course it is." Mycroft answered himself.

"You won't find that either. I'm very good."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade added, stepping into the room. "Please, just calm down."

"DON'T TELL ME TO BE CALM! John is dead! What would you do if Mycroft died?!" My head ached, everything was crumbling. It was as though an earthquake and a tornado were both ripping apart my mind palace piece by piece.

"Sherlock…listen to us. Please, just give us a moment to talk about this. Please, just put the knife down."

"No…" I moved forward quickly, but neither of them dared to stop me.

"Sherlock? 'Lock? Please, can you put the knife down? For me?"

Everything froze.

"No, you're not supposed to be here." Mycroft protested.

"I'm not going to leave Mycroft, no matter how much you try to bully me." I looked up and saw John standing in front of Lestrade, Mycroft's hand was on his shoulder, holding him back.

It was John.

_John. _

_MY JOHN!_

He was wounded, his already injured shoulder was obviously wrapped underneath his tee-shirt. His hair was shorter and his face was bruised slightly.

"John?"

"Vatican Cameos." John's eyes twinkled as he beamed at me. I ran forward, the knife forgotten and I flung my arms around him, minding his shoulder. Though not enough…he still winced. "I take it you remember me again." John sighed in relief. "Thank you for not killing Sebastian, he saved my life."

"John…John…" I couldn't help it, I was crying, falling apart in his arms, drowning in his scent, his presence. I couldn't care that there were others watching me. He wrapped me up in his arms even though I could tell his left arm was very tender.

"I'm here, Sherlock… I'm here. It's alright." John promised, kissing my neck lovingly, gently. He was just as steady as always, perfect, warm…solid. He was my rock, the foundation to everything. He was _my_ everything.

"John, you have to leave." Mycroft said after a few moments.

"Sod off, Mycroft, I'm staying right here." John snapped back, not letting go of me.

"How?" I sniffled into his shirt. "You were dead. I felt your pulse."

"Faked it…Doctor, remember?" John chuckled softly.

"Bit not good." I warned him.

"Ah…too soon. Sorry, love." John frowned.

"You're hurt."

"I was shot in the shoulder, Sherlock…it doesn't feel too great."

"How?"

"Mycroft and I figured it out. We knew Moriarty wanted me dead… If I didn't die he'd come after you…so I had to die, that much was obvious. So we were very lucky that Sebastian Moran is the twin brother of Moriarty's right-hand man. I shot Moriarty so that Seb had a reason to shoot me. He shot me, not with a live round thank god, but it still fucking hurt…he just had to hit my left shoulder." John flashed a glare at Seb who looked down guiltily. "If I lived they were supposed to come after you…which is why Mycroft was sending me off to some remote place in Alaska."

"You weren't going to tell me?" I whimpered. Yes, whimpered, because John had that much power over me.

"I didn't think it would matter to you… I mean…I didn't think you'd hit your head." John frowned.

"You could have left me?"

"I could do anything to protect you." John promised. "I didn't think you would remember me… I didn't think you'd care…" I pulled him tighter to me.

"I'll always care."

"Didn't feel that way…" God, I'd broken his heart. I'd absolutely demolished my husband's heart.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"Sh…it's okay."

"Don't leave me…"

"Never, Sherlock. We'll face them together. You and I."

"Good…" I smiled at him and sealed that promise with a very deep kiss. If I had been in my right mind, I might have been embarrassed to show that much emotion in front of anyone, but I honestly didn't give a fuck.

I had my John back.

John had me back.

Everything was normal…even the people out to kill us was pretty normal…

"Let's go home. Your shoulder must be killing you. I'll give you a massage." I promised.

"Mmm…sounds relaxing."

"You can't just… They'll kill you—I—you—Sherlock!" Mycroft protested.

"I'd like to see anyone try." I told him with a smile. "I would advise you not to look through the cameras in our flat…I wouldn't want you to blush." I smiled when he did blush.

"Dinner?" John wondered.

"Starving. What would you like?"

"Whatever you want…"

We both knew we had some serious issues to hash out. Well, I knew we had issues, and if I knew that John most certainly did (he's so much better with emotions).

It could all wait, we had time, especially since I heard Mycroft already upping the protection around us.

Meddling prat.

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too." I said, grabbing his hand. For the first time in months, both of our rings were in their proper places as they flashed in the afternoon sun.

Perfect.

* * *

**Oh...did I ever tell you I'm a sucker for happy endings?**

**Yeah... I'm an 'effin bleeding heart. Sorry.**

**Had to have a normal, lighter ending.**

**Hope you enjoyed the ride.**


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